


The Warrior Who Wooed a Smith

by Roadstergal



Series: Thor and the Demon [7]
Category: Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Celebrations, Crafts, Cyborgs, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Quests, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slavery, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 07:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14971868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roadstergal/pseuds/Roadstergal
Summary: Not all who deserve a happy ending are granted one.  Yet, there is happiness to be had, even without the ending.





	The Warrior Who Wooed a Smith

It is the way of the young ones never to be satisfied.  When the tale is in the telling, they are desperate for the end; yet once the end has come, they beg for it to continue.

Alas, there is little more to tell of the Demon and the Prince.  Yet, of the smith and the great warrior, perhaps there is more.

It was in the forests of Asgard, surrounding Valhalla, that the demon found the smith, crumpled at the foot of a young willow, its arms draped protectively over him.  He had no power of speech, now, but his eyes spoke clearly to the demon, wide and expressive.  _You promised to protect me. You swore an oath, on your blood.  And yet you betrayed me._

"Yes," the demon agreed, clambering inside of the cool embrace of the willow, sitting next to the smith.  "In my love for the Prince of Asgard, I was most cruel and weak.  But I swear to you, I am here to make all well - by the lady Sif, by the Prince, and by you."

It was as clear as a lake of melt-water, that the smith did not trust the words of the sweet-tongued demon.  Yet no other choice did he have - a stranger in this land, his power of speech gone, with no tools, no forge.  He held his hand to the demon, who took it and bore him on its back to the forges of Eitri, swift as the wind that howls over a wildfire.

Eitri saw, then, that the demon had kept his word, and gave to the horned beast the hair he had made for the Lady Sif.  The smith marveled, mutely, at the skill of the dwarf; the golden hair was as fine and light as the hair he had admired so greatly in the halls of Valhalla.

"My skills are beyond those of mere mortals," Eitri told the smith.  "You will learn, as well.  No longer will ye be a mortal man of flesh; you will be a man of the anvil, a man of metal and sparks, of the glow of the forge."

The demon paid no heed to them, instead leaning over the fires of the forges of Nidavellir, which burned hotter than the heart of the sun.  He yearned for the fire and the warmth, and yet, his skin stayed as cool as an autumn rain.  Eitri pulled him away.  "Go, demon, return to Valhalla and darken my smithy no more.  I have done you one favor, and you have paid in kind; no more service will I do for thee."

 

* * *

 

All of Valhalla did celebrate, for there was much joy to be had - from the restoration of fair Sif's golden hair, to the triumphant return of Thor and the Jarl's son, to the betrothal of brave Thor to the sly fire-demon, whose fires had returned with the touch of Love from Thor - tempered, dampened, a domestic blaze of warmth without destruction.  Yet the young warrior sat quietly, unmoved by the celebrations around him.

"My love, my fair one, bravest of all in Midgard and beyond," the Jarl's son told him, for his sadness moved the man to weep, "tell me your sorrow, that I may help remedy it - or if that is not possible, at least share your burden."

"I gave my heart to you, on Midgard," the warrior replied, "and yet, the covenants are broken when one leaves the land of the living, and so my grieving heart was given then to the smith.  Yet now is he, too, gone from me, and I miss him grievously.  I would give my heart to you both, yet as soon as it is given, the love is taken from me."

"Do not say such things," cried the Jarl's son, taking the warrior's hand in his own and kissing it.  "We will find your love. Did not the demon say he had taken the smith to Nidavellir? We will journey to the land of the dwarves, once the celebrations are concluded, and beg for an audience."

At those kind words, the warrior embraced the Jarl's son.  "You are my true love and my true friend," he cried.  "We shall indeed seek him out."

A full three fortnights did the celebrations continue.  The betrothal of the Prince of Asgard is an auspicious time for match-making, and so did many couples pledge their troth to each other, and the celebrations continued unabated until all had their fill.  The warrior drank mead and ate roast pig, joining in the festivities in body if not in heart.

As the festivities concluded, and the people of Asgard returned to the industry of their daily lives, the Jarl's son came to Thor and begged of him leave to take the warrior on the quest for his beloved.

Thor spoke, emotion choking his words.  "You are my bosom companion.  You have been my stalwart rock in our many adventures. I can deny you nothing.  All I ask is that you equip yourself from my store of arms and supplies, to be well-prepared for this journey." 

The comely demon by his side, dressed now in the golds of royalty, nodded in agreement.  "I will provide you with direction to the realm of Nidavellir.  The cunning dwarves have made their lands hidden by mazes, hiding their abodes by their art."

The warrior and the Jarl's son embarked then on their journey, well-equipped and well-guided.  They journeyed by day, and by night, they lay close and spoke to each other of the adventures that had befallen each of them since they had separated from each other.  The Jarl's son told the warrior of the journey to Valhalla on the winged steeds of the Valkyries, and his campaigns with the mighty Thor, breathtaking stories of legend upon legend.  In turn, the warrior told the Jarl's son of his pursuit of the vette, of the smith's cunning traps, of their pledge to each other, of the warrior's pursuit of them, year upon year, until he found them, wet and shivering, and he held the smith under his shield and warmed him, touching him with Love.

The Jarl's son was greatly moved, as his love was boundless and unselfish.  And so they pushed on apace, until they found the land of the dwarves.

"The heavens preserve me from these endless visitors!" Eitri complained.  "No more will I let the sons of Aesir or Midgard under my roof!"

At that, the warrior bent his knee to the great craftsman, apologizing for his intrusion.  "Yet I come here not for the marvels from your forge, but for my love, the smith of Midgard."

"This smith is now a marvel of my forge, as well," Eitri countered.  "His debt to me is great; he came to me tongueless and mortal, and I have made him whole again.  He is bound to me until his debt is repaid."

"Honored Eitri," the warrior replied, "Sindre the master of metal - your claim is righteous and supersedes all else.  Yet, for the love I bear him, I ask for what leave you can grant him?"

Eitri was moved by the steadfast love of the warrior.  "If he still desires you," Eitri determined, "you shall have him during the sacred times, the Jol and the Solstice, and I will have him the rest of the year."

At that, the warrior clasped Eitri's ankles and kissed his great boots in gratitude, then hurried into the smithy to see his love again.

"I am not as you last saw me," the smith said, and as he stepped from the shadows, the warrior saw that it was true.  His body had been beaten and quenched and beaten again, gold and steel and iron mixed into it until it shone in the firelight as metal does.  "My body could not bear the heat of the dwarven forges."

"You are the same smith I gave my heart to." And the warrior touched his body and found the metal warm and pliable as flesh, and the silver tongue, when they kissed, as soft as the tongue of man.

And so it was that the smith and the warrior pledged their love to each other.  The smith worked an arm of steel for the Jarl's son; now whole and complete, he was free to return to Midgard, with the warrior, and they lived together in Love, as Jarl and his Companion, and ruled wisely and justly, and their village prospered in peace.

Eitri kept his word, and during Solstice and Jol, the warrior returned to Valhalla to reunite with the smith; there, they renewed their vows, and held each other with great love, and the skies wept at their reunion.  The smith showered the warrior with marvels from his forge - knives that never dulled, ploughshares that never broke, jewelry of most cunning and delicate workmanship.  The warrior brought the marvels back to the village, and all were amazed and delighted.

None could say what happened when the warrior and the Jarl, aged and wise and beloved by their subjects, passed at last into Valhalla.  All that is known is that when the smith did repay his debt, there was no force in any of the realms that would have kept him from the warrior.

**Author's Note:**

> Kahvi and I have an established pattern. I write a downer story, she makes it better, I try to make it a downer again. When the story gets to the point where even I have to write a happy ending, she wins!


End file.
